


our secret moments in a crowded room

by labeledbones



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-04
Updated: 2017-12-04
Packaged: 2019-02-10 18:12:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12917445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/labeledbones/pseuds/labeledbones
Summary: In the back of the car, Armie reaches his pinky out across the seat and links it with Timmy’s. “Everything okay?” he asks in a low voice, looking over at Timmy who is staring blankly out of the tinted window.aka Armie and Timmy touch a lot and Timmy is sad.





	our secret moments in a crowded room

In the back of the car, Armie reaches his pinky out across the seat and links it with Timmy’s. “Everything okay?” he asks in a low voice, looking over at Timmy who is staring blankly out of the tinted window. 

Timmy’s pinky twists around Armie’s and then he lets it go, pulling his hand into his lap. He turns and smiles weakly. “Fine,” he says. And then, “Tired.” And then, “I don’t know.” 

The car starts to move briefly before traffic comes to a stop again. Timmy turns his head back to the window. 

“Okay,” Armie says. He isn’t used to Timmy being this quiet. He’s used to being overwhelmed by Timmy’s energy even early in the morning. He’s used to having to reign him in. 

He watches Timmy’s face for a while, the downward turn of his eyes, the thin line of his mouth, before turning to his own window. 

It hadn’t occurred to him before that Timmy might be lonely. 

When traffic lets up again, he feels Timmy’s hand on his and he squeezes it in response. “I’m okay,” Timmy says from what sounds like very far away. 

Armie nods, but doesn’t let go of his hand. 

**

In the lobby of the theater, Timmy stands by the side door, looking at his phone. Armie excuses himself from a conversation he wasn’t paying attention to in the first place and crosses the room. 

“You’re antisocial tonight,” he says, leaning against the wall next to Timmy. He glances at Timmy’s phone and realizes he’s not even doing anything, just swiping through the icons on his home screen. There are 35 unread text messages and even more voicemails. 

Timmy slips the phone back in his pocket and looks up at Armie like he’s just waking up. He blinks a few times and says, “Oh, yeah. I guess I’m just not up for all this tonight.” 

Armie shrugs. “I guess it is the 536th Q&A we’ve done,” he says. “So I can’t really blame you.”

Timmy smiles but doesn’t laugh or say anything in response. 

“Do you want to go home?” Armie asks, reaching out to touch the back of Timmy’s hand with his fingertips, a brief physical assurance. 

Timmy shakes his head. “No,” he says, encircling Armie’s wrist with his fingers. “But can you just, like, stick by me?”

“It’s what I do best,” Armie says, all warm affection, covering the hand Timmy has on his arm with his own. 

**

In the corner of a dark dive bar in the West Village, they’re shoved together in a booth, leaning into each other. People around them standing and talking and laughing, not noticing them sitting there in their own world together.

It’s too loud to bother talking so they just sit and look at each other. They know each other well enough to have entire conversations like this. It’s not telepathy; it’s something more magic than that: being known completely. 

Armie raises his eyebrows, playfully nods his head to the beat of the song. Timmy shakes his head and grins then slowly closes his eyes and opens them again. Armie’s face turns serious, soft, open. Timmy smiles, tilting his head closer to Armie’s, grateful he doesn’t have to say it out loud: _I am tired and just want to be with you._

He rests his head on Armie’s shoulder and lets out a long breath. Under the table, Armie holds his hand loosely. 

They stay at the bar for 20 more minutes before making excuses and leaving. 

**

On the cold November sidewalk, Timmy puts his arm around Armie’s waist. They walk for a block or two, leaning heavily against each other, and then stop at a small park. They sit on a bench in their overly expensive suits and watch their breath come out like smoke. 

They exist in such comfortable silence together that Armie is almost startled when Timmy speaks. “Sorry for being weird,” he says, looking down at his shoes. 

“Like, in general? Or specifically today?” Armie asks, nudging Timmy’s shoulder with his own. 

Timmy laughs in that way of his: his whole body kind of arching into it, his head tilting back, like joy is physically moving through him and spilling from his lips. “Asshole,” he says, shaking his head, shoving his cold hands into the pockets of his suit jacket. 

“You’re allowed an off day, Timmy.” 

“Yeah,” Timmy says, looking up at the moon hanging brightly above them. “I think— Fuck it sounds stupid, but I think some days I love you more than other days and it kind of wipes me out, you know?” 

At that, Timmy stands up suddenly, starts walking back to the entrance of the park. Armie stays put for a second, just watching Timmy, and then he gets up and jogs after him. 

Back on the street, he links his arm with Timmy’s. After a while, he says, “I never want this to be hard for you.” 

Timmy keeps his eyes on what’s ahead of him. “I think it’s just going to be hard sometimes,” he says. 

Armie stops and pulls him into the dimly lit entryway of an apartment building. He kisses Timmy and says, “Sometimes I think you’re too wise for your own good.”

Timmy smiles, kisses him again, and then takes his hand, pulling him back onto the sidewalk. 

**

In Armie’s hotel room, Timmy falls onto the king size bed, bringing Armie down with him. Armie lands next to him with a small ‘oof’ and Timmy smiles. 

The room is dark except for the streetlight and moonlight coming through the window. Timmy touches the places on Armie’s face where the light is, and then touches the places where the shadows are. When his fingers pass over Armie’s mouth, Armie reaches up and holds Timmy’s hand there, kissing his fingertips, his palm. He can feel Timmy shaking. 

“Is this okay?” he asks in a whisper. 

Timmy laughs at the absurdity of this question after however many nights they’ve had together, but he’s still shaking so he nods and he says, “I’m honestly just so relieved to be lying here in bed, with you, in the dark, in the quiet.” 

Armie nods, resting his forehead against Timmy’s. “Me, too,” he says, brushing their noses together.

They get undressed and kiss slowly and aimlessly under the covers, both knowing they’re too tired to do anything more than this, but still needing some sort of continuous contact. 

Eventually they’re too tired for even that and Armie wraps his arms around Timmy, buries his face in Timmy’s neck, whispers _I love you_ into his skin, and immediately falls asleep. 

Timmy watches Armie’s open, sleeping face for a moment, pushes back the hair that falls across Armie’s forehead, runs his thumb over an eyebrow, says _I love you too_ , and closes his eyes. 

**

At the gate, 20 minutes before their flight boards, Timmy is quiet while he drinks his coffee and watches the people hurrying through the terminal. Armie sits next to him, reading a copy of the Atlantic, one of his hands resting casually on Timmy’s knee, his thumb absently moving back and forth while he he furrows his brow at some article about how terrible the world is right now. 

Timmy suddenly says, “It’ll be nice to see Liz and the kids, right?” 

It jerks Armie out of his intent focus, his hand abruptly pulling away from Timmy’s knee. He looks over at Timmy. “Yeah,” he says, turning back to the magazine. “Sure, always.” 

Timmy just nods. “It’s nice that you have stuff to go home to,” he says, watching Armie stare at the page in front of him even though his eyes aren’t moving over the words at all. He doesn’t mean for it to sound bitter or jealous, but he knows that it does. 

Armie doesn’t say anything at first and then he sighs, puts the magazine down in his lap. When he looks at Timmy his face is both soft and angry, his jaw clenching and then releasing. 

He looks at Timmy like that for a long time, love and frustration working across his features. And then he says, “I wish I’d met you when I was younger.”

It’s not the response Timmy had expected, but he gets it. They have both found the absolute right thing in each other at the wrong time. So Timmy just grins and shoots back, “Like, when I was a baby?” 

Armie shoves him, but he’s laughing. “Fuck off,” he says. “You know what I mean. I could’ve used someone like you back then.” 

The announcement for boarding comes over the loudspeaker. Timmy groans, and falls back into his seat. “I don’t wanna go,” he says, like a child on the verge of a tantrum. “Let’s just stay here in New York, you and me.” He’s joking but he’s not joking at all. He’s in love but he’s lonely as hell. He adores Armie’s family but he wants him all to himself. He is a storm of contradictions. 

Armie smiles softly at him. “Come on,” he says, standing up and reaching out his hand to pull Timmy out of his seat. “Liz will make you all the milkshakes you want.”

Timmy perks up at that. “You know my greatest weakness” he says, taking Armie’s hand and allowing himself to be pulled up. 

**

In the guest bedroom of the Hammer house, Timmy lies awake, staring at the ceiling.

There’s a book he’d left behind last time on the nightstand, a pair of his shoes tucked away in the closet, his toothbrush on the sink in the en suite bathroom. Earlier Liz had referred to it as ‘your room’ when she’d told him there were fresh sheets on the bed. But lying here alone, it doesn’t feel like home to him. 

Then Armie is standing in the doorway, in the darkness, in his boxers and a white t-shirt. He says, “You awake?” really softly even though he can clearly see that Timmy’s awake. 

Still, Timmy answers, “Yeah,” mimicking Armie’s whisper. 

Armie pushes the door to — not closing it all the way, the difference between privacy and keeping a secret — and pads across the room, sliding under the covers. 

Timmy’s arms are immediately wrapped around Armie’s body, his face against his shoulder. 

“Hi,” Armie says and Timmy can hear him grinning. 

He pulls his face back and tips it up toward Armie, kisses him once. “I’m okay,” he says without Armie even having to ask. 

“I almost believe you,” Armie teases, touching Timmy’s face. 

Timmy stares up at him. Armie stares back. “You’re here,” Timmy says. “So I’m okay.” 

When Timmy wakes up, Armie has gone back to his own bedroom, and the bright morning light is flooding the room. Timmy reaches a hand out to the empty side of the bed, a 6’5” indentation still left behind. He rolls over, breathes in the remaining traces of Armie’s skin, and finds a piece of paper, clearly torn from the back of the book on the nightstand, folded on the pillow.

He can hear Armie’s voice in the slanted writing: _See you in the morning xxx_ And then, further down the page, as if it’s an afterthought: _I think you’ve got the best parts of me in your hands._

**

In the middle of another celebration, another award won, another step towards the big one, the one Timmy won’t even name out loud because it seems like such a mistake on the universe’s part that he should even be entertaining the idea (“Oscar, Oscar, Oscar” Armie likes to chant quietly in his ear sometimes until he starts to squirm and shuts him up with a kiss), champagne bubbling in Timmy’s bloodstream, Armie signaling to the bartender for another bottle, Timmy slips his arms around Armie’s waist, and just holds onto him. 

Armie looks down at him and laughs, gathering him up in his arms. “You’re incredible, Timmy,” he says for no one else to hear. 

Timmy scrunches his nose and looks up at him, shaking his head. “Not nearly,” he says. 

“Don’t fight me on this,” Armie says, tightening his arms around Timmy. “You just won, like, your 15th award. It’s an indisputable fact. You’re incredible.” 

“Okay, okay,” Timmy concedes, pulling himself out of Armie’s embrace. “I’m incredible.” 

Armie puts a hand behind his ear like he can’t hear. “I’m sorry, what?” 

Timmy purses his lips, fighting a smile. “I’m incredible,” he says again, barely any louder than before.

Armie gestures to his ear and to the speakers pumping music through the bar. “Sorry, it’s just a little loud in here. What was that?” 

“I’m incredible!” he yells, laughing into the words, feeling ridiculous, feeling loved. A few people turn to look at him, but generally nobody even notices. 

Armie grins widely at him. “That’s what I like to hear,” he says.

**

In the back of a different car, Timmy reaches his pinky out across the seat and links it with Armie’s. “Everything okay?” he asks, the words stretching across his smile. 

Armie’s cheeks are flushed red from laughing and drinking. He pushes his fingers through Timmy’s, kissing the back of his hand. “Everything is great,” he says. “You?” 

Timmy nods happily, leaning his head back against the headrest, looking fondly at Armie. “Me,” he says.

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from "Dress" by Taylor Swift. 
> 
> As always, [find me on Tumblr](http://elio-bonerman.tumblr.com/)!


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